The Transparency In The Partnership
by Coilerfan35
Summary: She wasn’t an idiot, and even though she couldn’t read people well, she read him like one of her novels. --- Spoilers for The Bond In The Boot! One-shot! possibly


_**AN: And here is yet another fanfiction one shot for yet another kick ass season 5 episode! The Bond In The Boot! God, that last scene was so hot! So was that fucking car! MM! Sexy, sexy!! So here we go with this. Hope you enjoy, I think I did a pretty good job. But that's just me. I could be wrong. HAHA! TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK PEOPLE! MY LOVING FOLLOWERS! XD**_

_**Alright, I'm done**_

_**Have fun**_

_**DUCES!!! **_

_***holds up peace sign***_

* * *

We're comfortable with each other. We don't withhold secrets from each other…

Now wasn't THAT a lie…

He was holding one of the biggest secrets of his life from her.

The secret that he didn't love her in a professional 'Atta-girl' kind of way, but that he loved her in the most passionate and most intimate way a human could possibly muster.

He felt that love for her when they were lying on his floor, shoulder to shoulder, staring into each other's eyes and speaking of their relationship softly as if it would be destroyed completely if anyone else heard.

'_Her eyes are so beautiful,'_ he thought to himself as he looked into their deep blue depths, seeing happiness, and a shimmer of something else he couldn't describe swimming in them.

He felt that slight twitch, when his fingers covered hers. She was scared at first, but her tension was relaxed quickly after.

And when he had to grab the wrench from beside her, his arm wrapping around her and holding her to him as his hand blindly searched for the cold metal, she was scared, but then relaxed.

But now he sat with his back to the cupboard, his head resting against the hard wood, his eyes closed as he listened to her move around his bed room.

She got wet, very wet. So considering the white shirt she was wearing, Booth decided to stay on the safe side, and offered she slip into one of his old t-shirts while she threw hers in the dryer.

He still tried to forget the image of her pale, alabaster skin sugared with water droplets. So far nothing was helping.

Her tongue darted between his lips and moistened the soft tissue, he was craving her, his hands clenching at his sides as he conformed to his mantra. First song you could think of. Pretty Little Angel Eyes…eh…not helping…next song…something more modern…and even though he hated punk metal bands, the first song that came to mind was My Life for Hire…thank you Angela!

Recite through lyrics.

_Somebody give me a sign, that everything's going as planned.  
And then everything falls away, into the darkness of this shallow place.  
The detail is striking.  
The room's cold and frightening.  
You'll kick and you'll scream.  
You'll try everything to survive.  
But you should know your fate by now._

Damnit! This wasn't helping either! This unfulfilled love, it was the room. The kicking and the screaming, he had actually done, resulting in a very sullen looking sand bag. Surviving, he couldn't do without her. His fate was to be with her. He just knew it, but he also knew he couldn't rush her, or he would lose her forever.

"Booth," her gently voice roused him from his reverie.

"Bones," he answered, opening his eyes and sitting up a little straighter, swallowing the lump in his throat as he took in her appearance.

His FBI sweatpants, a dark Aerosmith shirt, her breasts heavy and bra less, her hair curling at their tips, darkened to an almost jet black.

_Beautiful_

"Are you ok?" she asked, her eyes narrowing in pure concern.

"Yeah," Booth said, shaking his head gently as he pushed up to his feet, the cold metal of the wrench scraping against the tiles as his foot gently pushed it aside on ascent.

She turned her head to the side slightly, in a sort of 'What-do-we-say-next' gesture, small strands of hair sticking to her skin "So…"

"So," he repeated, shoving his hands into his pockets, and rocking back on his heels "Put your clothes in the dryer?"

"Yes," she answered "Thank you, for letting me borrow this," motioning to the clothing that hung from her body.

"No problem," Booth said "So, you got pretty soaked, should be about an hour before your clothes are dry enough to wear. What do you want to do in the mean time?"

"It doesn't matter to me," Brennan said with a gentle shoulder shrug, that made Booth's stomach flip "Obviously I'm not suited for an outdoor activity."

"No," Booth said clapping his hands together "You are suited for lounging in the living room and watching a nice movie accommodated with take out and beer!"

She chuckled at his enthusiasm, "Sounds perfect," she said, her voice lowering on her last word, their gazes locking and holding, the longer they stared the hotter they both got, their stomachs burning before Booth broke eye contact and reached over, holding his phone into the air "Thai, Chinese, or Italian?"

"Italian sounds amazing," Brennan said.

"_Magnifico,"_ he said in his best Italian accent, which was amazingly accurate, Brennan's mouth gaping open momentarily.

"The ancestors are Italians remember," Booth said with his genuine Booth smile before he leaned against the counter and pressed his phone to his ear.

*****

"So what movie do you want to watch," he asked, looking over at the woman parked comfortably at the end of his couch.

"Doesn't matter to me," she said, her feet curled under her, her position stretching one side of his shirt closely to her unsecured breasts.

Booth turned quickly, clearing his throat as he sifted through his movies. The dark blacks and blues of the movie case catching his eyes, as he looked into the pale face of a kick ass actor, with a horrible, heartless character.

"How about this?" Booth asked, holding up the movie.

"_Underworld: Rise of the Lycans_," she read "What's a lycan?"

"Come on Bones, you can figure that out, what does Lycan come from?" Booth asked.

"Lycanthropy?" Brennan asked.

"Exactly, now what is 'Lycanthropy'?" Booth asked.

"Werewolves?" Brennan asked in more of a question, then a statement.

"Si," Booth said, using his Italian charm on her again "It's a movie about a war between Vampires and Werewolves. Even though I know they are mythological, it has a very captivating plot."

"Hmm," Brennan said "I'm convinced."

Booth chuckled, and smiled up to her, "Soak it up now right? Probably never going to happen again?"

"Not necessarily, but to be on the safe side…" she trailed off with a mischievous smile.

Booth rolled his eyes and pulled himself up, his hand resting on her head and moving quickly, sending her dried hairs into the air, curling around each other as she hissed her protest, bringing her hand to her hair and running her fingers through it.

"What? Do you not like people playing with your hair?" he asked, twirling a piece of her hair around his finger flirtatiously.

Heat crept into her cheeks and she quickly looked down "No…" she rolled out "I love having people stroke my hair, I find it comforting."

"But you're not a cuddler? That sounds like a very 'Cuddler-y' thing to do," Booth said.

Brennan shrugged "My mother used to do it to me when I was sick, now every time I'm tired and can't sleep, or I'm sad, I long for someone to stroke my hair."

Booth reached his fingers up to her scalp and ran them down her soft hair gently, his knuckles skimming her cheeks on their way down.

Her finger tips itched, her lips became parched, her skin was heated, _everything_ was heated.

To the point she didn't hear the door bell ring.

"Food's here," he whispered gently, smiling at her almost evilly before he jumped off the couch and walked to the door. Her eyes following after him, tracing the muscles in his back before she landed on his toned and sexy-as-hell ass.

_Woo…_

_*****_

She always hated being tired during movies. Especially interesting movies like this one. But at this point, she could hardly keep her eyes open.

She was sitting sideways on the couch, her feet pointed towards Booth, her arms wrapped around her knees, her head using the back of the couch as a pillow.

Booth glanced over, noticing her extremely tired state; he reached out and rested the back of his hand against her cheek.

Her eyes opened slowly, pain coursing through her at her disrupted sleep.

"Hey," he whispered "You don't have to stay up."

"I don't think I will be," she said, closing her eyes again "So…tired."

Booth chuckled and pulled his hand away, patting his lap.

Brennan's eye brow rose towards her hair line, unsure of his command.

"Rest your head in my lap, you can lie down and go to sleep," Booth offered.

Brennan stopped, freezing in place for a moment before shrugging her shoulder and turning onto her hip, crossing her arm over his lap, and resting her cheek on her arm, the feeling of being able to lie down feeling like winning a 10k run.

She felt the soft fabric of an afghan go over her shoulders, and felt that horrible feeling rising in her throat.

The feeling of left over energy, stored deep within her, just now making its appearance.

She groaned, but was silenced by thick fingers sliding easily through her hair, the slight pull at her head soothing her, and relaxing her muscles.

_Oh yeah…_

She never let anyone else do this do her. Only her mother had, which was exactly why she didn't let anyone else do so. It was something special, something held close to her heart, a ritual she remembered vividly that she always looked forward to through the pessimistic views of childhood sickness.

But this man has done many things to her.

Most of them good, or made up for with good things.

He trusted her, she trusted him, they were open with each other…at least most of the time.

She wasn't an idiot, and even though she couldn't read people well, she read him like one of her novels.

That 'Atta-girl' shit had to be the biggest lie, he had ever uttered from his lips.


End file.
